Last night I spoke to Carlos in the dark. I brought up the time – all the way back in 2015 – when we cuddled together in the upstairs room of Village Soho – a gay bar in central London. He remembered. It had been over 7 years since we first met. I asked him where he wanted to be in 7 years time.
Married?
‘Meh’
Different job?
‘Depends’
One thing’s for sure. He doesn’t want to leave Madrid.
I told him about my insecurities. About never knowing if I’m truly making the right decision, or going down the right path. Carlos said there is no right or wrong path. I wanted to reach out and touch him in the dark. But I didn’t.
I lay in bed this morning as Carlos sat down at his desk, hurriedly setting up his computer and laptop, opening spreadsheets and typing furiously. Recently, I’ve had a horrible feeling that all this travel I’m planning isn’t going to change me in the way I want. That I’ll still be the exact same fool with no better grasp on life and no clear path forward. That my parents and friends from afar will be looking at the pictures of things I eat and things I’m doing, like I’m on some extended holiday… it suddenly feels so silly and pointless, like I’m not taking my life seriously. I often feel like I should be in a 9 to 5 job; some graduate scheme or anything that earns me more than minimum wage. But as I looked at Carlos getting down to business at his desk this morning, I thought – or rather, I knew – that 9 – 5 can get STUFFED.
I haven’t even hugged Carlos since I reunited with him here in Madrid. I wondered if I should hug him now as I left. I didn’t. Instead, we sort of groped at each other’s sides in a friendly, affectionate farewell. Then I went on my way to see the Botanical Gardens of Madrid.
The Botanical Gardens were so boring that I was more excited to leave them than I was to enter. For 4 euros I couldn’t complain, but I don’t recommend them. I’ve had more fun crossing the road.
Shortly after leaving the gardens, I found myself in Rodilla; a coffee shop right next to El Brillante. Rodilla sells lots of different types of white bread sandwiches; all for just 1.60 each. I ordered 1 cheese and walnut and 1 pate. I chose cheese and walnut just because it sounded unusual. But it was almost as dull as the botanical gardens. The pate saved the day.
Once I’d had a good look round the Plaza del Mayor and the Egyptian temple of Debod, Carlos met up with me and we went for a couple drinks at an indoor market called San Anton. Carlos bought us 2 bottles of Alhambra, and then I got us each a glass of Mahou – which Carlos told me is the most common beer in Spain.
Alhambra has got to be one of the most refreshing things I’ve ever drank. It’s not as if I was parched or sweating in heat; it was a cold night for Madrid, but this beer made me feel refreshed when I didn’t know I needed to be. The Mahou was nice too, but it didn’t make me feel the way Alhambra did. Alhambra – for the time being at least – is my new favourite beer. We’ll see if it retains that position when I get back to Greece and start drinking Mythos again.
Carlos talked passionately about Fleabag and BoJack Horseman – two T.V. shows he wants me to watch. I don’t know if I ever will, but I loved listening to what he had to say; the more he raved about them, the more he came alive.
I began divulging my insecurities again. Saying how I want traveling to change me. Carlos kept asking ‘why?’ ‘why do you want to change?’ ‘You are not a bad person.’ I tried to explain why I’ve been unhappy in London, and why I’m leaving for a long time. But I quickly realised that I didn’t even know the answer myself. Carlos didn’t buy the fact that I simply didn’t like my job anymore. (If you don’t like your job you get a new one.) He pointed out there must me more to my unhappiness. I could have chatted away with him all night, and dearly wish we had. Unfortunately, things got cut short fast. Turns out he forgot his friend’s birthday party which was this very night. He had to dash off – was extremely apologetic of course – and called his flatmate Sole to let me back in. He offered to bring me to the party, but seeing as I don’t speak Spanish, we figured there was little point.
So that’s how I ended up in Carlos’ bedroom all by myself, scoffing down a plate of cashew nuts and Spanish omelette, while wistfully looking forward to the Spanish mountains tomorrow. Carlos has promised to take me for a hike outside the city.
